---- Chapter 17 Ethan arrived at the funeral home in the dead of night, his car screeching to a halt at the curb. He pounded on the heavy oak doors until a sleepy-looking night watchman opened them. "| need to see the body of the Jane Doe who was brought in last month," Ethan demanded, his voice raw with a desperation that bordered on madness. The watchman, recognizing the powerful, frantic man before him, nodded nervously. "She's... she's already been cremated, sir. No one claimed the body." The words were a physical blow. "Where is she?" Ethan whispered, his last sliver of hope crumbling to dust. The watchman led him to a dimly lit room lined with small, metallic lockers. He pointed to one. "Here, sir. Unclaimed." Ethan stared at the small, square door, his mind refusing to process what he was seeing. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be all that was left of her. Of her fire, her laughter, her stubborn, beautiful spirit. A small box of dust. He remembered her promise, whispered on their wedding night: Till death do us part. She had kept her promise. She had left him. ---- His assistant, who had followed him, gently touched his arm. "Sir, we should go. | can make arrangements for a proper burial." Ethan flinched as if he'd been burned. He turned and looked at the locker, his expression shifting from disbelief to a strange, terrifying calm. He reached out and opened the small door, his movements slow and deliberate. He lifted out the heavy, simple stone urn. He held it in his arms, cradling it to his chest as if it were a newborn child. He felt a sense of peace settle over him, a chilling, absolute certainty. She was his again. In death, she had finally returned to him. He walked out of the funeral home, the urn held tightly in his arms, and got into his car. He drove back to the mansion, the cold, empty house that had been their battleground. Olivia was waiting for him in the foyer, her face a mask of smug triumph. She had somehow managed to get back into the house. "| heard the news," she said, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "So, the bitch finally did it. Good riddance." She was holding a small, jeweled box. "| had my accomplice sent out of the country, by the way. No loose ends." Ethan looked at her, at her gloating face, and he smiled. It was a terrible smile, devoid of all warmth, all humanity. ---- "You're right, Olivia," he said, his voice a soft, silken whisper. "No loose ends." He walked towards her, the urn still clutched in his arms. "You took her from me," he said. "You took my Sarah. And now, you're going to pay." She backed away, a flicker of fear in her eyes. "What are you talking about, Ethan? | did it for us!" She tried to play her last card, letting the strap of her dress fall from her shoulder. He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. He set the urn down gently on a table, then grabbed her by the arm. He forced a handful of pills into her mouth, the same pills she had tried to use on Sarah "You're not fit to even speak her name," he snarled, forcing her to swallow. "She was a queen. You are nothing." He dragged her, kicking and screaming, down to the soundproofed basement. He ignored her cries for help, her pleas for mercy. He locked the door and walked back upstairs, his face a mask of cold, righteous fury. He picked up the urn and carried it to the master bedroom. He lay down on the bed, the cold stone pressed against his heart. "I'm sorry, my love," he whispered to the ashes. "I'm so sorry. | shouldn't have hurt you. | won't ever hurt you again." He closed his eyes, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on his cheek. "Just come to me in my dreams," he ---- begged the silent urn. "Please, Sarah. Just let me see you one more time."